


Earl Grey it is

by Augenblickgotter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), GOC2020, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Tea, Tea Drinking, goodomenscelebration2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augenblickgotter/pseuds/Augenblickgotter
Summary: Anniversary gift of the day for May 16th is TEA!A simple cute fic celebrating one of my favourite things (TEA!) for the Good Omens Celebration
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 36
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Earl Grey it is

Crowley opened his eyes and gave his neck a roll.

Instinct grabbed him fast and made him ask where he was.

The smell assuaged his demonic nerves in a millisecond, even though his heart was racing.

_"Bookshop. The smell of a million books everywhere. Of course. Musta fallen asleep..."_

In the obsolescent lighting, he looked around and remembered falling asleep on this sofa sometime.

When?

Well, whenever it was, he now was well rooted in the plush cushions, meaning he hadn't stirred in a while.

Which also said he probably had passed out after a night of drinking. At first glance, he didn't see signs of excessive alcohol, but he felt it.

_"So, clearly, I DID NOT sober up and just let thee merry spirits run its lively course. Oh lord, I thought hangovers were a mortal thing."_

His legs had sprawled outward. His posture was so slouched it felt like gravity was working double time. He pulled his heels closer to the sofa to try and sit upright and heard bottle clinking—multiple bottles.

" _Oh, haha, yup."_

He carefully tilted down to peep under the skirt of the sofa and confirmed it.

_"A whole graveyard of dead soldiers. Bless them; you served your purpose."_

He leaned back with a groan. Even the dim lights were hellish punishment, and he could firsthand verify that. He fumbled up for his sunglasses and realized they were already down. 

_"Oh, this will be a bad, mark my words."_

Then he noticed an open book slung across one leg.

_"What the...? I WAS truly drunk for sure..."_

"Good morning, Crowley!" bloomed Aziraphale's voice from around a corner.

Crowley sighed loudly. 

"Mornin'. Angel. _Oh ye gods, talking hurts. Can I talk? Not sure if I'm capable of speech...."_

Aziraphale came around the corner, holding a kettle. His over jacket was off and hung the coat rack. He approached Crowley, tipping to remove the book from his knee. Crowley looked at his knee in a retarded motion, then up at Aziraphale, beaming with his kettle. 

"Did you sleep well?" Aziraphale queried thoughtfully. 

Crowley rolled his head back.

"You tell me."

"Well, I'd say it looked rather deep. But not unpleasant. Maybe on the second day, you looked a little stressed..."

"SECOND day?" Crowley hissed, trying to raise his head. "How bloody long have I been rooted on your sofa?!"

"Three days," Aziraphale smirked.

Crowley moaned and flopped his head back. 

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because you looked peaceful! And since you did NOT sober up I figured you could use the rest."

"How... much... did....we..."

"You," Aziraphale firmly corrected. 

"Me," Crowley feebly let slide, "How much did I...?"

Aziraphale looked bemused and held his hands behind his back.

"Do you recall yourself trying to change all the lightbulbs in this shop?"

Crowley drew a blank.

"Ehh, can't say I do," he offered helpfully.

"And asking the victrola why it had only one horn and not two like most horned animals?"

"Eehhhm, nah, I don't...."

"And telling off the hat-rack to leave the shop at once?"

"Why would I do THAT? Doesn't sound like me!" Crowley sneered, trying to push his glasses on further.

"BECAUSE," Aziraphale confided in a mock whisper, leaning closer, "You said no tall, black-hatted stranger was coming into your favourite Principality's shop and asking him to waltz without your permission."

Crowley drew a blank of a blank.

"Eh, doesn't sound like me..."

"All that aside," Aziraphale said with a wave of his hand, "I figured you needed the rest after I set you there after you passed out in the middle of the shop."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, you didn't actually carry me?" Crowley groused, flailing on the sofa.

"Did you want me dragging you by your hair?"

"I'm not a baby!"

"I might beg to differ after your performance," Aziraphale suggested with a smirk.

 _"Ugggh, he's really rubbing it on thick._ Yeah, well, cute, thanks for picking me up from the sawdust and all. I hope no one saw it."

"Unfortunately," Aziraphale confessed, looking sideways, "I think the hat-rack did." 

Crowley wanted to burst but couldn't.

_"He thinks he's a regular comedian now, does he?"_

"And, the book?" Crowley growled.

"What book?"

"The one that was one on my knee, you just removed?"

"Oh!" Aziraphale looked at the spine and back at Crowley.

"Well, since you were there for three days, I make it look like you were a customer who had popped in to read, decided to check the book you were interested in, and fell asleep on the sofa! Wasn't that clever?"

"No one noticed I was fucking pissed?" Crowley yelped.

"Not a soul!" Aziraphale confirmed with a grin. "And some people just sat beside you to read their books! "

Crowley slumped further down.

"Anyhow," Aziraphale brushed aside, "I was just on my way to make tea!"

Crowley waved his hand. 

"Fine. Scurry off and boil your leaves. Have a holiday with that."

Aziraphale blinked and pushed his glasses up his nose with the hand still clutching the book.

"It's for you as well. What would you like?"

"What?"

"What tea would you like, dear?"

"Eh... the kind that comes in a cute little teacup on a saucer-" He held up a hand pantomiming holding a saucer and cup- "With a little spoon to stir."

His other hand began stirring.

Aziraphale shrugged, turned, and walked away. 

"As you wish! Let me start the water!"

Crowley groaned again and fell back.

 _"He's REALLY in a mood, I'll never live this down._ "

Crowley heard water running somewhere. Then the click of a burner being turned on. This was followed by a small curse and some clicks of a fire starter. Then another small curse and fumbling with a matchbox and the striking of a match and more inoffensive cursing.

Crowley snapped his fingers and heard the small _~fawhoomp~_ of a gas burner igniting, slightly overdue, and Aziraphale letting out a yelp.

"Thank you, Crowley!" came his grateful voice.

Crowley smirked to himself.

"Now," came Aziraphale's voice, "What tea would you like?"

"The stuff that comes in the cup," Crowley lazily replied.

"With all due seriousness, do you have a preference?"

"No, " Crowley drawled. "It's all the same. Brown pungent water. "

There was silence for a moment.

"Fine. Earl Grey it is..."

"Ugggh, can you be more sophisticated?" Crowley growled, rolling on his side.

"Sophisticated?" chided Aziraphale's disembodied voice. "Earl Grey has the most delectable boutique! Fine, then we'll go with English Breakfast..."

"Ugh! That's downright wicked stuff!" Crowley barked.

"Wicked? Really? "

"Like petrol."

"Hardly! With the proper sugar and cream..."

"It can't be saved. Move on."

Aziraphale sighed loudly.

"Fine. IRISH Breakfast then?"

"Bah!" Crowley spat. "Irish? Seriously? Do I look Irish?"

"Well, then... how about Ceylon? Hmm? Slightly different?"

"Ehhh, too..." Crowley wavered a hand and strove for the right word. "Too tea-ish?"

"Fine, I could do Gunpowder then?"

"Eh, I can confirm it does NOT taste like gunpowder," Crowley bragged with a grin. 

"That's just the name."

"Name or not, no."

"Hmmm, orange pekoe, perhaps?"

"It never tastes like an orange to me!" Crowley whined loudly.

"That's not the point. Well, then, Assam perhaps?"

"Too strong! I hate that bitter taste!"

"Well, maybe something herbal then!"

"That's tea for people who pretend they are drinking tea!" Crowley scoffed.

"It's not!" Aziraphale insisted looking down the hallway with a scrunched up expression. "It may not have caffeine, but it's really pleasurable and relaxing! "

Crowley scoffed.

"It's an excuse of the teas. Sweeping of fingernail clippings of other teas!"

Aziraphale looked offended.

"Chamomille before bed is most soothing!"

"NOT what I need right now," Crowley brushed off. "And by the way, angel, what book did you place on my knee to be so convincing for my bookshop act for the last three days? _Sleeping Beauty?_ "

" _Walden_ by Thoreau," Aziraphale snorted stiffly.

"That would do it."

"Back to tea!" Aziraphale snapped, disappearing from sight. "How about a mint then? Or a hibiscus? That might soothe you?"

"Ughh, just flavored water with some color..."

"Oolong, perhaps? Simple but floral?"

"Did you say floral?" Crowley jabbed, happy to be irritating Aziraphale so much. "Floral is Not in my vocabulary, angel."

"Oh, you could have fooled me you... wavering little daisy!"

"Ooh, ouch, that burns," Crowley snickered. "And seriously, how many teas do you have in there?"

"Do you want to find out?" Aziraphale challenged.

"Nah, just make it happen," Crowley snorted.

"I would if you'd tell me what you'd like!"

"I am trying! But you are so picky!" Crowley was simpering but felt a pang of guilt. Of course, Aziraphale was so accomodating and polite just trying to make tea, and he was a bit of a prick.

_"Well, it is my nature, He should know that by now."_

There was silence from the kitchen until a low whistling of the kettle was heard. 

"Made your decision yet?" Crowley yelled out.

The only response was the ceasing of the whistling and some clattering.

 _"Probably making some spearmint vanilla cinnamon cream twist or something..._ "

There was a long pause, which gave Crowley enough time to reflect on his hangover until he heard the shuffle of feet.

Aziraphale approached, holding a tray with two cups on saucers. He masterfully moved to the sofa, placed the tray on the small book laden coffee table in front of them, and sat next to Crowley. Crowley's weight started sliding towards him due to how plush and slouchy the cushions were.

Aziraphale leaned forward to grasp both cups by their dishes, smugly handing one to Crowley.

"And?" Crowley asked, grasping the dainty flower decorated cup by its petite saucer.

"Earl Grey," Aziraphale firmly confirmed.

"But..."

" **But** did you want me to list off 20 more teas," Aziraphale rebuked, "Just so you could retort?"

Crowley shrugged.

"It's the most simple perfect tea a person can ask for on a quiet weekend morning, I'd say. The cream and sugar compliment the boutique."

"I like honey in mine, " Crowley began to grouse.

"I know, so I put honey in yours."

Crowley puckered his lips.

"And if it had whipped cream, it would be better..."

Aziraphale looked exasperated.

"Are you blind?"

Crowley looked down at noticed the foamy head on his cup.

Topping it all was a serpent drawn on top (with what Crowley was not sure) of the whipped cream heading, surrounded by a heart. 

Crowley bared his teeth, and Aziraphale smirked as he blew steam off his own cup.

"And I even included the little spoon and saucer you wanted so much!" he added before taking a sip from his cup.

Crowley grabbed the spoon handle with his other hand and started vigorously stirring.

"Uh, well, thanks, my in house bookstore barista. Good job."

"Cheers," Aziraphale offered, holding out his cup.

Crowley rolled his eyes but grinned.

"Yeah. Cheersss," he answered, clinking his cup.

They both leaned back on and sipped from their own cups.

"Mmm, not bad," Crowley conceded. "Hey, this inspires me, angel. Let's go to a coffee shop today, and then to the park, huh?"

"Sounds perfect!" Aziraphale gushed, holding his cup in both hands.

Crowley took another sip, which stirred a memory.

"Like this tea," he gushed, leaning up and forward. "It's almost perfect! There's only one way to make it totally utterly perfect, though."

Aziraphale cocked a brow as Crowley leaned forward and reach under the sofa.

"Crowley, you aren't going to..."

Crowley procured the nearly empty bottle of Talisker, holding it up, gave it a shake to confirm the single serving left.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale barked.

Crowley hissed and popped the cap off with his teeth.

"You... you... uncouth barbarian!" Aziraphale called. 

Crowley beamed and splashed the last of the contents in the teacup, licked the rim of the bottle before chucking it under the sofa, and slurped his tea down with much emotion.

Aziraphale sputtered then went silent.

"Ahh, the most excellent cup of tea ever!" Crowley reverenced. "Now, let's get on with the day!"


End file.
